


The 53rd Wednesday

by suzvoy



Category: Smallville
Genre: Angst, Futurefic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-10
Updated: 2004-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 11:48:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/356396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzvoy/pseuds/suzvoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lex hated Wednesday's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The 53rd Wednesday

## The 53rd Wednesday

by Suz

<http://suzvoy.livejournal.com>

* * *

3rd Wednesday

Clark died on a Wednesday. 

It seemed extraordinarily unfair to Lex that it happened on a Wednesday. Wednesday was the middle of the working week; a transitional day, a day of no great importance. Perhaps even a boring day. Monday or Friday - the beginning or the end - would have been far more appropriate for a man who valued others so highly above himself. 

He knew without asking that neither Martha nor Jonathan would approve of him arranging for the date on the death certificate to be changed, so he did the only other thing he could. 

He changed Wednesday. 

* * *

7th Wednesday

All things considered, such a huge shift in company policy hadn't taken that long. His senior team were quite possibly convinced of his insanity, the financial papers kept speculating between total doom and soaring profits, and his father's reaction had been entirely predictable. 

But Wednesday was no longer a work day at LexCorp. 

Wednesday was a 'do whatever you want' day. Whether that entailed going to work, going shopping, lounging in bed, cleaning the house or having fantastic sex - it didn't matter. It was up to his staff to do what they _wanted_. 

Wednesday wasn't just Wednesday anymore. It was enjoyable, exciting, something to look forward to. All the things that Wednesday never was. 

* * *

12th Wednesday

He still hated it. 

* * *

20th Wednesday

Lex had started spending his Wednesday's in Smallville. Instead of going to the castle he'd always drive straight to the Kent farm after finishing his work in Metropolis on the Tuesday night. Sometimes he got there so late that it was technically the next day, and the stars and the headlights of his car were the only things guiding him. Without fail there would be food on the table, usually accompanied by a handwritten note. At first they said things like _make yourself at home_ , but soon they changed into _you need to eat more_ and _don_ ' _t drink coffee at this hour_. 

Sometimes he liked to delude himself into thinking that Jonathan had written them. 

This Wednesday was no different. He ate, cleaned up, and then after clumsily pulling his $200 shoes off with his feet (an action he'd seen so, so many times. Before.) he stretched out on the sofa. 

He never slept in Clark's room. Not once. 

* * *

24th Wednesday

On some Wednesday's he helped with the chores around the farm. Jonathan had long ago come to realise that he was capable, and considering the amount of work Clark had been able to take on he had to accept help wherever he could. 

He still wouldn't directly take Lex's money, but sometimes they worked side by side and Lex could _see_ every coiled muscle, every flinch Jonathan was trying to hide. Because Lex wasn't _Lex_. He was just another reminder of the son he'd lost. 

On this particular Wednesday Martha was teaching him to bake cookies, the prospect of which he had to admit was far more appealing. Her hair was tired back - something he didn't usually see - and her skin was flawless, missing that stereotypical smudge of flour he'd always imagined was a typical part of the baking process. 

He really needed to take cooking lessons. 

Lex actually made her laugh at something he said, and it was then, as the corners of her eyes were crinkling up that he did it. 

He began to speak without planning to. 

"I..." 

Still smiling she looked at him, obviously waiting for more. 

He didn't speak without meaning to. Not Lex Luthor. So he said something he meant. 

"I wish I'd seen you doing this with Clark." 

It was the first time he'd said Clark's name to her since before. 

Her smile faltered, though only slightly, but it was enough. The pain was evident in her rapid blinking, and though the guilt he felt was considerable, he was reassured to know he wasn't the only one. 

The only one still feeling. 

Beating something in a bowl enthusiastically Martha told him about Clark's first attempt at muffins, and Lex laughed - then coughed - right into his cookie dough. 

One embarrassed silence and a raised eyebrow later, she told him to make sure that those ones went to Jonathan. 

He'd never understood his own father's fascination with her more than at that moment. 

* * *

32nd Wednesday

He dreamt about killing Clark. He had kryptonite and Clark was trapped with it, but _it wasn_ ' _t his fault that Clark never told him_. It wasn't his fault. Couldn't be. How was he supposed to know? 

When he woke, shaking, retching, he rolled onto his side and tried to reassure himself by replaying the day Clark had told him everything over and over again in his mind. 

He remembered that being a Friday. 

* * *

53rd Wednesday

It was cold in Smallville, colder than it ever was in Metropolis. Lex stood out on the porch with his gloved hands wrapped around a mug of coffee, knowing that he was going to have to drive back to the city soon. The light dusting of first snow was really quite beautiful, but Lex couldn't stop staring at his drink, watching the warmth rise from it and slowing disappear into nothingness. 

The symbolism was starting to get a little heavy, even for him. 

Being so well-maintained the door creaked only slightly when someone emerged, and Lex knew who it was even before he heard their familiar footsteps on the porch, knew why they were there. 

Why he hadn't been there the Wednesday before. 

His mug was suddenly on the wooden railing around the porch. He didn't remember putting it there, but he stared at it as he spoke. Warmth into nothingness. 

"I was in love with him, Martha." 

He didn't feel lighter for saying that; nothing felt easier or simpler. What he did feel was a hand wrapping around one of his and - God. Even through the leather he swore he could feel the _affection_. 

When he finally turned to look at her, her eyes were unnaturally bright, an open smile on her face. "I know. And I think..." she looked away for a few moments before meeting his gaze again, the smile larger now, "...I think he did too." 

It didn't make everything all right. It didn't make the pain any easier. 

But when she tugged him towards her and he went, letting her hold him like he was a thousand Wednesday's younger, it was something that made that particular day of the week worthwhile. 

**~FINIS**


End file.
